


Practice

by brooklinegirl



Series: This Town is Wrong [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They'd only moved in to their own place a few months ago - Ray had lasted nearly two months with them crashing at his place before he had started sending Frank craigslist links to cheap apartments.</i>  (Timestamp to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/312280">This Town is Wrong</a> - five months after that fic ends.)  Requested by annemaris and ladyfoxxx back in, uh. April.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to shiningartifact for a fast and awesome beta and for always making my fics so much better! ♥ And thank you to mrsronweasley for listening to me ramble about this, and her endless encouragement.

"This sucks." Gerard picked morosely at the knee of his pajama pants, where the threads were coming loose. 

"I didn't say it would be easy." Frank was hunched over, half keeping an eye on Gerard, half watching Ray's technique with the chord they were trying out. Ray's hands were a lot bigger than his, and he had an easier time at this one. Frank had been trying to nail it for about twenty minutes now. "I said it would be better."

Gerard sighed and swiveled on the stool he was sitting on. "Yeah," he said. "But you never said it would be _boring_."

They were in a studio - it was shabby and tiny, sure, but it was an actual studio, a recording space that a friend of Ray's let them use one night a week for almost nothing. Practice in the studio space would usually jar Gerard out of whatever funk he might be in, but apparently not this time.

Frank ignored Gerard, copying Ray's finger movements with his own hand. 

"Close!" Ray said encouragingly. "Dude, that was so close, you've almost got it." He played the same chord again, like he never got tired of it - like his fingers never ached. Frank studied it, leaning a little closer, and Ray did it again without Frank even asking.

When Frank glanced over, Gerard had his phone out, and was texting with great concentration. Mikey, again, Frank had no doubt. Gerard had been acting like they were across the country from his brother, instead of a forty minute train ride. When Frank had texted Mikey last week, a little worried about Gerard's level of unhappiness, Mikey'd just texted back _Gee doesn’t transition well_ and then followed it up with a frowny face.

Frank had taken that to mean that this was pretty standard behavior for Gerard. He'd decided to tackle it in a couple of ways. First was to not let Gerard's absolute conviction that everything was going to crash and burn distract them from making this band thing happen. Which meant that he couldn't let himself feed into Gerard's doom-and-gloom spiral, which mostly boiled down to ignoring Gerard when he was doing nothing but making dire predictions.

Which was most of the time.

The second was involved figuring out when Gerard was doom-spiraling for the sake of doom-spiraling, and when Gerard really needed Frank to listen to him. That one was tougher. Frank was still figuring it out. 

"Okay," Frank said, after he'd gotten the chord down three times in a row. Ray was beaming as he played it along with him the last time. "I think we gotta get home." 

"No, that's cool," Ray said. "You did good tonight. I think we almost got this one. You too, Gee," he added. "Those vocals were amazing."

Gerard shrugged one shoulder, but he said, "Thanks, Ray." You couldn't be pissy with Ray, even if you were Gerard in a mood. 

"I'm gonna hang here for a while." Ray was moving his fingers on the frets a little bit even as he said it, like he had an idea in his head that wanted to be made into music. 

"Cool." Frank bumped fists with Ray, while Gerard went in for a hug like it was no big thing. Ray got his guitar out of the way just in time. 

Half of Frank really, really wanted to stay, hang out, see what was going to come out of whatever Ray had going on in his head. The rest of him knew that Gerard was about half an hour from some sort of meltdown and getting him away from the creative process was the best thing Frank could do.

*

The subway ride was thankfully un-fraught - they had to run for the train, Gerard's bag banging awkwardly against his side, Frank clutching his guitar case against his chest - but they made it, and even got seats. Gerard was pretty quiet on the train - it was loud, and he didn’t like to yell over the sound - but he spent some time looping the strap of his bag around Frank's wrist, and then off again, then on, adjusting it a little, tugging it tight, before pulling it off again - so Frank knew Gerard wasn't upset. Not with him, anyway.

Gerard was pretty quiet on the walk home too - their place was not that far from the subway, which was good, but it was so fucking tiny as to barely be able to live up to the "studio" description in the ad. They'd only moved in a few months ago - Ray had lasted nearly two months with them crashing at his place before he had started sending Frank craigslist links to cheap apartments. It was a hole in the wall, really - barely big enough to fit the futon, the bookshelf, and the giant pile of bags, boxes, and crap they had somehow accumulated in the short time they'd been there. 

(Whenever he came to the city to visit, Mikey would bring key things he thought Gerard would need - books, graphic novels, DVDs. Sometimes he'd send packages - Gerard's favorite inking pens, or sketch pads, thick paper that looked really fucking pricey. Once he'd even sent a giant flat-pack of canvases. Gerard would light up when he opened them - even before, just seeing Mikey's serial-killer scrawl on the address label was enough to make his face soften - and he'd be happier than usual for days afterward.)

It felt cramped, kind of - they had to sidle past the bed to get to the kitchenette, which was pretty much just a cubby in the corner with a tiny sink and a half-sized stove, and two cabinets installed above. But it was theirs, and it was only maybe fifty bucks over their budget. 

And the bed never felt cramped. It was a thick futon, covered with blankets and too many pillows, and they spent most of their time home there.

Frank flipped on the light as they walked in. It was getting close to dusk outside, gloomy and dim, and Frank winced a little against the sudden brightness.

Gerard let his bag fall to the floor with a thud. His face looked - not like a thundercloud, but like a rainstorm. Like he was about thirty seconds from falling apart, even though - nothing had happened, nothing had gone wrong! A band was work, and getting discovered took time, and they were in New York, only a bridge from home. Frank knew all these things, and he knew _Gerard_ knew all these things. 

It didn't help. Gerard ran his hand over his face, like he was exhausted, as he stood there by the bed, swaying slightly. 

"Here," Frank said, mentally shaking his head and pushing his brain into the right place. Wanting to write, wanting to create - it would only work if he had Gerard, and right now, Gerard needed help. "C'mon. Shoes off." 

Gerard had on huge clunky boots, haphazardly laced, knotted and messy. He stared down at them like it was the hardest math problem in the world. "I don't -" He trailed off

Frank took a breath, pushing him down to sit on the bed, and getting down on one knee. "I got it, Gee." He worked at the knots quickly - the left boot was half undone anyway, lace trailing - and got them unlaced. "Take 'em off," he ordered. He glanced around, looking for clean pajama pants. Gerard had worn the same ones he'd had on for three days and nights straight to practice today, not caring about how he looked. 

Which was homeless. 

"And here." Frank grabbed a pair of sleep pants, relatively new, not soft and worn-in like Gee liked, but clean, and tossed them at Gerard. "Change into these, okay?"

Gerard caught the pants, and looked down at them, dangling from his hand. "Yeah," he said softly. "Okay."

Frank edged past the bed to the kitchenette, and the mini-fridge nestled underneath the window. He opened it hopefully, and was rewarded with the six-pack he'd forgotten they had bought last night on the way home. He extracted two beers, twisting off the tops with the hem of his hoodie. Gerard had changed into the clean sleep pants by the time Frank made his way back, and he'd crawled into bed, pushing the covers down with his feet. He was curled up there, looking forlorn. 

Frank was pretty sure he had never seen someone _actually_ looking "forlorn" in his life. Gerard was a special dude.

Frank toed off his sneakers. "Here," he said, pushing the two beers into Gerard's hands. "Hold these."

"Oh God, yeah." Gerard clutched the beers against his chest, like Frank had given him a gift. 

Frank undid his belt and jeans, shoving them down and off and leaving them in a heap by his side of the bed. It was cold in the apartment - they kept the heat low, low, low, because the heating bill was outrageous when they kept it at a temperature actually fit for humans - but he just climbed into bed, tugging the covers up over the both of them, and shivering as he grabbed his beer from Gerard.

"Better?" he asked.

Gerard nodded slowly, picking at the label on the beer. "I'm sorry," he said, finally. "I didn't mean to fuck it all up."

"You didn't," Frank said. "We'd been practicing the same chord for like forty-five minutes. I don't know how you weren't out on the ledge by that point."

Gerard shrugged one shoulder, not looking at Frank. His hair was in his face, but Frank could still see his mouth, the corners pulled way down. "I don't mean to _keep_ fucking it up," he said. 

"You're _not_ ," Frank said. His stomach sank, as he looked at Gerard through the greasy tangle of his hair. "Gee, you're - this is hard stuff, and it's a lot of work, and -"

"It's not the work." Gerard said it firmly, looking over at Frank, finally. "I can do the _work_ , Frankie, Jesus." He shook his head, took a gulp of beer, and shivered in the cold of the room. "It's me. I'm just - I can do this, I can work, I can listen to you do the same chord over and over again, and it's _not_ boring, I don't know why I said it was." He gazed at Frank, brown furrowed. "I'm such a _dick_."

"You're _not_ ," Frank said, again, even though he totally was, sometimes. "Gee, listen to me, you're not. You're just human, we both are, and this is just -"

Gerard shook his head again. "It's me, Frankie. I feel - I want this, I do, I listen to us sometimes and I really think we're going to be _big_. I just - I'm still - inside, it's still _me_ , and -"

"Is it -" Frank doesn't want to know the answer to this, not really. "Is it like it was before? When you were in school? Is it bad, like that?"

"No." Gerard said it slowly, like he was really considering it. "No, it's - it's not like that. I still feel - I feel like I'm _here_. Like I - exist. I would forget that, sometimes, before."

There's another question that Frank had to ask. He didn't want to know the answer. His heart was in his throat, but he forced the words out. "Do you want to go back?"

His voice was steadier than he'd thought it would be. He took a gulp of air, and then a gulp of beer.

Gerard's eyes went wide, and afraid. "Would you - do you want me to go?"

"No, Jesus, that's not what I’m -" It was like all that Gerard had ever experienced in life was disappointment. "That's not what I'm saying at all. At _all_ ," Frank said firmly. "I'd go back, too. We could go back together."

Frank's throat hurt from saying it, but he meant it. He would. For Gerard, he would.

Gerard blinked, and bit his lip. "No," he said. "I don't - no, I don't want to go back."

The relief was so fucking huge that Frank was blinking back tears.

"I have you," Gerard said. grabbing Frank's hand, his fingers made even colder by the beer bottle. He tilted his head, his hair falling out of his eyes. "I have you, and we're doing this together. I just want to - I wish I could be happier, sometimes."

Frank did, too. "What can we do to fix that?" He sat up, even though it make the covers fall away and let the cold air in. "I want to fix that."

Gerard shrugged a little. "It's just me." He smiled, a little, even though his eyes were kind of damp. 

"I _like_ you," Frank said softly. "Even when you're sad."

"Yeah?" Gerard sat up, too, and moved closer. "I'm sorry, Frankie. I’m trying."

"I know, Gee." Frank kissed him, and Gerard sighed softly against his lips and kissed him back. Frank loved this - loved the way Gerard curled up around him at the smallest encouragement, loved the way Gerard needed him, wanted him. They _were_ in this together - Gerard was right about that. Frank's arms tightened around Gerard's shoulders at the thought, and Gerard whimpered softly against his lips, but eased himself closer, his beer bottle a hard cold press against the small of Frank's back.

Gerard needed him, and Frank could _do_ that. It was maybe a little bit fucking terrifying when he let himself think about it too much, but - he was nineteen. He was ready. He could _do_ this. He could be here for Gerard, he could be there for their band (their _band_ , they were making this happen, holy shit), and he could play the same chord eighty times in a row if that was what it took to get that grin to spread across Ray's face, that nod of approval. 

Frank had this. He totally had this. "Hey," he said against Gerard's mouth. 

Gerard muttered something unintelligible. He seemed to be trying to climb into Frank's lap, ignoring the tangle of blankets, the beer bottles, the cold air of their apartment. 

"Listen," Frank said again. "C'mere, let me -" He tugged at Gerard until he moved back a little, frowning at Frank, his cheeks all red. Frank extracted the beer from his hand, and shoved it and his own bottle onto their cluttered bedside table. 

Gerard was back on him the second he got the bottles down, pushing him back against the pillows, straddling his lap and kissing him. His hands, icy cold now, were on Frank's face, like he was holding him in place. He tasted like beer, and his mouth was warm on Frank's. 

"Hey," Frank said, breathlessly, when Gerard pulled back for a second. "Is this - are you -"

Gerard wasn't paying attention, too busy moving his mouth down Frank's jaw, messy and weird and _hot_ in that way that only Gerard could make happen. He had his knees tight around Frank's hips, and Frank felt pinned, sort of, not quite held down, but definitely held in place. 

He wasn't sure if this was a sex thing or a comfort thing, but he'd been hard from the moment Gerard curled up around him. He couldn't help it, he never could - his dick took every single thing about Gerard as a come on. He was trying to be a better boyfriend, trying to just _be there_ for Gerard, but Gerard's mouth was on his neck now, and fuck, fuck, all bets were off. 

Frank couldn’t help pressing his hips up, he seriously couldn't stop it if he tried, and he didn't want to try. 

Gerard shoved Frank back down against the bed, and Frank made a helpless sound in his throat. He could feel himself leaking into his shorts, Jesus, he wanted this so _bad_. He wrapped himself around Gerard, pushing his hands up under his shirt to get to some skin.

" _Augh_!" Gerard yelped, recoiling from him. 

This was not at all what Frank had been going for.

"What," he panted, feeling undone and desperate and _so fucking hard_.

"Your hands are so fucking _cold_ , Frankie!" Gerard was still too far away from Frank, and Frank wrapped his legs around Gerard's hips to bring him back in, bring him closer, press him against Frank's dick. 

"Sorry," Frank said, but he wasn't, he didn't care, he just wanted - "Sorry, can we just -" He went to push Gerard's pajama pants down a little and Gerard yelped again and did a body-roll away from Frank on the bed.

"They'll get warmer," Frank promised, crawling over and pressing Gerard down against the bed, pinning his wrists above his head, while Gerard giggled and tried to twist away from him. " _I'll_ get warmer, fuck, Gee, trust me."

Gerard was squirming up against him, his face turned up, flushed red and he looked - _happy_ , in a way Frank felt like he hadn't seen in a while. 

"Hey," he said, looking down at Gerard. "Hey," but he didn't know what he was trying to say, really, just that his throat was tight and his face was hot and it was really weird to be kind of close to tears or something, while his boner was pressed up against Gerard.

One of the awesome things about Gerard was how he didn't care about stuff like that, how he never thought it was weird or wrong. He just looked up at Frank's face, like he got it, and relaxed back on the bed, not trying to loosen Frank's hold on him anymore, just letting Frank hang on. "Kiss me," he said, sounding loose and lazy. "Frank. Kiss me."

Frank did, sinking down against him, kissing him hard. They'd been doing this for so long, you'd think kisses wouldn’t have the same effect, but Gerard's mouth against Frank's was just the same kick in the chest that it had been that very first time down in Gerard's dank basement bedroom.

Gerard curled himself up around him, and it was like the room fell away, like everything did - all the heating bills, the practice sessions, the homesickness, all of it. Frank didn't know how long they made out, Gerard letting him slip his hands under his shirt, helping him push their clothes off, the two of them finally, dragging a blanket up over them until they were cocooned within, protected from the cold air.

"I want -" Gerard panted, hot against Frank's ear, as Frank shoved down against him. "I want you to - Jesus, Frank, want you to fuck me, I -"

"Later," Frank panted helplessly, because his cock was sliding slickly against Gerard's hip, his stomach, Gerard's own hard dick. "Later, I want to, fuck, I'm just -" He was so hot and hard and he wasn't going to last, not like this, not with Gerard moaning under him and begging for it. 

"Tell me," Gerard said, his voice rough, his hands clutching at Frank's back, dragging Frank closer as Frank drove down against him, trying not to lose it, trying to hold on. "Tell me how - how you want - how you want me, I -"

Frank groaned - he couldn't even focus his eyes, but Gerard was staring up at him with his fucking intense gaze, his mouth open as he panted for breath. His dick was sliding against Frank's, and Frank couldn't - he wanted to, but he couldn't -

"You," Frank managed, shoving himself forward, God, he needed to - "You're so fucking - I want to fuck you all the time, Gee. Want to do that - want to - I -"  


Gerard bit his lip, rolling his hips up under Frank, and Frank cried out and fucking lost it, shoving himself against Gerard again, and again, coming hot and hard against his hip, his stomach, God, fucking losing himself in the slide against his skin. 

Gerard was still hard when Frank managed to drag in a breath, and then another, and blink his eyes open. 

"Frankie," Gerard whispered, like a secret. The light in the room seemed too bright, and Gerard's eyes were huge. 

"C'mere," Frank said. "Gee. Come here, I -"

Frank slithered awkwardly down the bed, his hands clutching at Gerard's hips, his brain still bouncing off the inside of his skull from coming so fucking hard. His fingers slipped through his own come on Gerard's hip, and he grinned, and took Gerard's dick in his mouth. 

Gerard's fingers tangled in his hair as he did it, holding on, talking him through it. "God, yeah, like that, slow, slow. Frank. Frank. Your fingers, I - I want -"

Gerard was moving, shoving the lube down at him, poking him with it in the shoulder until Frank pulled off to grab it. Gerard was staring down at him, wide-eyed, spots of red high in each cheek, his hair all over the place. "Please," he said, shifting his hips under Frank, his dick sliding slickly against Frank's cheek. " _Please_."

Frank slicked his fingers up, messy, probably too much lube, but it was fine, it worked. Gerard gave a broken moan as Frank slid two fingers in at the exact same time as he took Gerard's dick back in his mouth.

"So good, so good, so good." Gerard never stopped running his mouth, even when Frank was doing him six ways from Sunday. "Like, that, yeah, I -" Gerard hitched his hips up, but Frank was ready for it, pulling back just a little, but shoving his fingers in deeper. "Oh fuck, yeah. Harder. Harder -"

He was breathless, and pushy, constantly moving, yanking on Frank's hair, making it impossible to keep up a rhythm, but Frank was going to sure as hell _try_.

"You'll still fuck me later, right, Frank?" Gerard's voice was high, desperate. 

Frank twisted his fingers inside of him in response, and Gerard groaned loud, _loud_.

"Want you to hold me down." Gerard had an arm flung over his face, like he couldn't take it, his voice muffled, desperate. "Want you so bad, Frank, hold me down, fucking do it, fuck me until I can't take it, until I can't feel anything but your dick inside me, please, Frank, will you do that, I want you to -"

Frank's fingers were cramping and his jaw ached, and he thought that if Gerard kept talking, he'd be hard again in minutes, would fuck him through the goddamn wall if he kept begging for it like that. 

"Oh," Gerard said, sudden and clear. "Oh. God. Frank -"

His hips went very still, and Frank went for it, his other hand around the base of Gerard's dick, jerking him off as he mouthed the head of his dick, his fingers going in, and in, and _in_ and - 

Gerard shuddered all over and came, sudden and hot and a _lot_ , in Frank's mouth. He gasped for breath almost silently throughout, and when Frank pulled his fingers out slowly, Gerard's breath caught in his throat, and he groaned quietly.

Frank was half-hard when he managed to push himself up onto his knees on the bed. Gerard sprawled there, arm over his face again, panting in the chill air of the room. His skin was flushed all the way down his chest, damp with sweat, his stomach sticky with Frank's come. 

"C'mere," Gerard mumbled from underneath his arm.

Frank held both hands out from himself, wiggling his fingers at Gerard as he clambered off the bed. "In a sec." 

Frank could see Gerard peering at him from under his arm as Frank scrubbed his hands in the bathroom sink.

"You're such a neat freak," Gerard said, stretching. "How did I end up with such a _neat freak_?"

Frank stared at him as he dried his hands on the bathroom towel. "They were _in your butt_ ," he pointed out. "That's not being a neat freak. That's being -" Frank waved his hands around, not believing he even had to make this point. " _Hygienic_."

Gerard shrugged sleepily as Frank crawled back into bed, clutching a damp washcloth determinedly. "Same thing."

"Augh." Frank made a face at him. "You're so gross."

"You love me," Gerard said, stretching again and starting to roll over.

"Wait!" Frank said, too late. 

Gerard blinked at him, his arms wrapped around his pillow, having effectively smeared the come from his stomach all over the sheets. "What?"

Frank sighed. "Nothing." The lube had already gotten everywhere. Now this set of sheets was _officially_ destroyed. He draped the damp cloth over Gerard's ass.

Gerard yelped, and threw it off onto the floor with a splat, then dragged Frank down, yanking the covers up over both of them.

The light in the room was still on, too bright, but Gerard pulled the covers up over their heads, so they were hidden there, light filtering through and making patterns on Gerard's cheek. He lay there for a minute, watching Frank, silent, but not in the same brooding way as before. "Neat freak," he said again, after a while, in a quiet voice.

"You love me," Frank responded. He'd meant it to come out lightly, but it sort of missed the mark.

Gerard, one hand tucked under his cheek, nodded slowly, looking at him.

Frank knew they should get up, soon - have dinner, finish the beer, recover a little so Frank could fuck Gerard senseless later - but for right now, in this fragile peace of their cave of blankets, all Frank could do was inch forward and put his head on Gerard's chest, while Gerard curled up around him, and the 7 train rattled by just outside.


End file.
